Big Hat, No Cattle
by parachutewoman
Summary: Post-TS3. For Woody, leaving Andy's House wasn't easy, but it seems he's the only one who feels that way. Will Buzz and the gang be able to cheer him up or will that only make matters worse?
1. Cowboy Blues

**Big Hat, No Cattle**

:::

Another Monday had dawned. With her small pudgy fingers, Bonnie held onto her cowboy doll, gripping onto his waist so his head drooped forwards ever so slightly. She lifted him to the windowsill and bobbed his body back and forth down the plane, tapping his brown boots against the wood as if he could really walk. A spray of sunlight trickled through the pale lace curtains, washing Bonnie with a warm morning glow.

"What a wonderful day it is today," Bonnie said in her best Sheriff voice. It was confident. Authoritative. Even brave. All the qualities Andy had bestowed on his miniature father figure seemed set in Woody, remaining true as ever, even as if he were real.

"Why yes it is, Woody," Bonnie exclaimed back to her cowboy doll. "You've made this place a law-abiding town again!"

"Darn tooting," she replied for her toy, shaking him so that his hat jerked forwards and knocked the bump of plastic at the tip of his brunette hair, something slightly resembling a quiff.

Bonnie was about to reply but the kindly voice of her Mom suddenly filled the room.

"Come on," Mrs. Anderson called. "We don't want to be late!"

"Okay!" Bonnie shouted back, placing Woody down on the windowsill so that his head lolled backwards and his yellow-chequered arms splayed out over his body. Sliding her arm through the strap of her backpack, Bonnie slammed the door behind her.

The room waited in wary silence.

Tiny plastic ears pricked up at the familiar bustle of the house. The sound of Bonnie's Mom tucking her animated daughter into her new polka dot coat – now that January had ravished the old one – and scrambled around for her wandering keys. Soon enough, the rev of the engine grumbled out of the exhaust and the swimming-pool-blue car growled down the street.

Woody was the first to come alive. No matter how long you'd been around, the first blink was always weird, he thought, like watching a bud suddenly bloom into a glorious flower. He sat up on the windowsill and peered through the curtains, eyeing the empty driveway.

"Coast is clear, guys," he shouted, throwing himself onto the desk below. The rumble of awakening toys coloured the room: the pleasing pitter-patter of little plastic feet ambling across the room to their usual hang-outs.

Hamm was still waiting on the desk

Piggy-banks, like gnomes, lamps and binoculars, were one of the many objects that found themselves residing close to the line of appliance and toy. Some came alive, some didn't. Hamm had always taken not being an actual toy in his stride, always content to play whatever role his owner gave him.

Woody had only ever known one other piggy-bank, back in the days when they were built to break. The cowboy wasn't sure whether the hog had ever been given a name or, like most of his memories before Andy: he'd forgotten it. Still Woody remembered he had been hand-painted in rusty pink – much darker than Hamm- and placed safely on the highest shelf. Even when the piggy-bank would complain about the abundance of nickels and dimes scratching up against his insides, he was still more than happy to serve his purpose and be thrown out with the broken coffee mugs.

"How'ya doing, Hamm?" Woody asked, shaking the memory off.

"Oh hey, Woody, yeah, I'm okay," he replied, shrugging. "Looks like Bonnie's taking a liking to ya. Like Andy, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Woody replied, feeling his cheeks tingle with embarrassment. "I just want to know everyone's having a good time. That's my job."

"Job?" Hamm shot back.

"Well, yes, I think I have a job to make sure everyone's doing okay."

"Umm," the bemused pig murmured aloud. "I think we're doing just fine, Woody."

The Sheriff's brow furrowed. "Maybe _you_are, Hamm, but changing owners can be a difficult process for some toys. It's one thing to be handed down but coming to terms with a completely new room? Well, that can be hard and I want to make sure this goes smoothly for everyone."

"Uh, if you say so, Woody," Hamm grunted agreeably.

The cowboy's eyes suddenly darkened, his hands tightening into fists. Maybe the whole not-being-able-to-break thing wasn't the greatest improvement for piggy-banks after all. Feeling the irritation rise up in his throat, Woody decided he was better off proving he _was_right instead of having a go at Hamm. _Some_one, _some_ toy, had to be having a hard time adjusting. Woody stared around the room and chuckled deep in his throat. _Of course there was_, he assured himself.

Breaking his fall on the soft sheep-skin rug, Woody glanced around the room and watched as toys greeted the morning. Rex and Trixie were already warming up the PC and impatiently tapping the eject button to test out Bonnie's new video game. In the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Pricklepants pacing up and down with his furry little hands pressed to his chest, reciting Harold Pinter as only a hedgehog can.

"Hey Woody," came the mellow sound of Slinky's voice. His spring, having been stretched beyond its limits on one too many occasions, now drooped lower than usual, clinking gently on the floor as he sauntered forwards.

The Sheriff's eyes widened. _Slinky. Perfect._ "How ya doing, old pal?" he asked in an empathetic tone.

Foot in mid-air, the canine stared suspiciously at Woody and his round, expectant eyes.

"I'm great!" Slinky replied out from a cheerful grin, hoping that his enthusiasm would answer his closest friend's question.

The novelty dog had always felt indebted to Woody. Even when the Sheriff had explained that it was the "least he could do" and "nothing to worry about" Slinky had never forgotten the day Woody saved his life. Back when their previous owner was only four or five, his Mom had bought Andy the very first toy purchased _especially_for him. Not a handy-down relic or a yard sale bargain, but a brand new Slinky Dog - wrapped and unopened in its original box. Unfortunately, Andy's gusto had only shortened Slinky's time. The cry had been monstrous and Andy's Mom hadn't even blinked before chucking the Slinky Dog into the rubbish bin. But without a second's thought, Woody had rescued the dog, cutting him out of the bin bag and tucking him into the corner of the closet, hidden beneath Andy's Dad's old coat.

It was a memory Slinky kept with him at all times.

But now, his reply hadn't seemed to please Woody one bit.

"You sure?"

Trying to add a smile, the dog replied: "I think it's all going just swell, Woody. You're doing a pretty good job."

The Sheriff stared down at him with an unmasked disappointment.

Slinky's eyes widened. "I mean you're doing a really good job," he yapped. "A really, _really_ good job."

Woody's body fell. "Thanks, Slinky," he lied, leaving the Slinky Dog with nothing more than a limp wave.

He began walking over to Bonnie's bedside table. Carved from white oak, the drawers were all tightly tucked in their places so Woody had to climb the smooth round handles with care, gripping onto the cotton bed sheets as he went.

Reaching the top, he recognised how large Bonnie's bed was compared to Andy's. Spacious and soft, the bed covered a fair share of the room, its lavender duvet matching the rich flowery smell that its washing detergent brought with it. Woody grimaced. It was certainly better than the smell of crisp pencil-shavings and tinny floor polish that mostly resided in Andy's room but it still didn't feel _right_.

Over by the lampshade, Mr. Potato Head and Buttercup were playing cards whilst Mrs. Potato Head offered her husband what she clearly thought was 'good advice'. Her voice actually seemed to grate in Mr. Potato Head's ears, so much so that the oversized spud finally pulled them out of their sockets and chucked them off the bed.

Woody was about to go over but something inside stopped him. Like boiling water gurgles on a hot stove, the cowboy felt his stomach growl up at him. Something about Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head being there, as if they'd always been, like nothing had changed, made him halt in his tracks.

_Maybe Hamm was right_, he thought. _Maybe everyone had adjusted to the move just fine. Everyone but..._

"Woody," exclaimed Buzz, placing a large, welcoming hand on his back. Jessie, following behind the space-ranger, sashayed towards the pair with her plaited, auburn hair dancing at her shoulders and a wide, haughty grin painted on her lips.

"Guys, I'm not in the mood," he muttered, pushing the space-toy's hand off his shoulders.

The smile Buzz and Jessie seemed to have shared quickly vanished. The spaceman's eyebrows perched upwards, his round eyes reflecting a boyish confusion back at his girlfriend. They watched as Woody, his arms flopped down by his sides, marched to the end of the bed and slumped down, his feet dangling off the edge. The Sheriff raised his hands and enclosed his fingers around the back of his neck and breathed out a slow, hollow sigh.

But it was not long before cowboy and cowgirl were seated together with Woody the victim of Jessie's fiercely warm embrace. He hadn't really noticed her sitting down beside him but the kind of limber arms enveloping his shoulders were undoubtfully hers.

She smelt of the same sugary detergent as the bed. Everything did.

"What's going on, partner?" she asked.

Woody continued to stare silently at his knees.

Jessie's cherry-pink lips corkscrewed. The mattress beneath them bounced gently as Buzz stepped closer to the pair.

Woody could tell they weren't going to leave easily. "I just want to be left alone," he tried.

"Oh no," she told him, shaking her head stubbornly. "I ain't gonna let a friend of mine sit around moping all day long."

"Is it about-"

"I _don't_ want to discuss it, Buzz," Woody answered coldly, shimmering himself away from the couple. He sat there, a worrying melancholy maturing in his eyes, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

Buzz offered a hand to Jessie which she took reluctantly, her eyes still on Woody. As the spaceman raised her to her feet and placed his hand affectionately around her supple waist, Jessie bit down on her lip.

"Let's go," she muttered bitterly, as if the words tasted sour in the back of her throat. "We're clearly _not_ wanted."

Woody didn't look up. He knew he should, he wanted to shake the feeling off his back and apologise to his friends, but he couldn't. He wasn't ready _and_ he knew it.

Doing something for others always came so fluently to Woody: saving Slinky and Buzz, rescuing Jessie and Bullseye, freeing his friends from Sunnyside, even convincing Andy to donate the gang to Bonnie: it had all come to him in a moment's thought. It was times when he had to think of himself that he found it difficult to work out what to do.

The Sherriff dourly closed his eyes._ 'Changing owners can be a difficult process for some toys,'_ echoed in his head. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh grumbled in his throat. "And don't I know it?"

:::

**AN – **A few things: 1) I had the characters refer to each other by name a lot because that always seems to be what they do in the films. It may just _feel _that way though. 2) The title is from the Randy Newman album 'Bad Love' which I seriously recommend. 3) I can't remember Bonnie's room layout very well so apologies for the slightly made-up arrangement. 4) I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.

Thanks for reading; all reviews welcome and appreciated.


	2. Detectives

:::

Buzz sat in his usual spot: the corner of Bonnie's room. It was a quiet setting, far from the rumbling drone of the new computer and a fair distance away from the Little Green Men, who had taken to reciting all their lines from Mr. Pricklepants's productions over and over again, regardless of whether the performance was tomorrow or three months ago. Behind him was the closet door, rosily painted in creamy white by Mrs. Anderson, and usually locked.

Bonnie, they had discovered, was still convinced that monsters could get in during the night.

Resting on three building blocks, the space-ranger sat with his head weighted in his hands. His mind was set on Woody. Right in front of him, Jessie paced back and forth, muttering to herself, but Buzz's thoughts rested solely on the cowboy. His friend's stark brown eyes seemed etched into his memory even as the swaying cow-print of Jessie's long, limber legs danced in front of his eyes.

The space-ranger's brow deepened further. As he searched his mind for a reason, or even an explanation, for Woody's behaviour his brain offered no relief. He let out an exhausted sigh, and his round, plump cheeks made his mouth into a small black line. Jessie called it his 'thinking face'.

Despite his efforts - and failures - Buzz's mind kept going. Every time he felt like giving up, he saw the cowboy sitting at the end of the bed, shimmering away from him. It wasn't _unlike _Woody to have bad days, even to get angry at them, but this had seemed more serious.

Buzz was determined to find out what was wrong. And fix it.

It was back in Andy's room that Buzz had first discovered who he - and millions of others - really was. He had ventured over to Andy's prized laptop and successfully logged on, jumping across the keyboard and stamping in the seven-digit password with his foot.

He, or rather the Buzz Lightyear doll, had been released in 1995 and was widely recognised as one of the finest toys in the world. Originally conceived in the United States, the main design was completed in Japan, with every component verified, every fault renovated and every part perfected. The resulting 'Buzz Lightyear of Star Command' shipped out from Taiwan's largest workhouses and into the hands of hundreds of thousands of children all over the world. One reviewer called it the "_ideal_ toy". The Buzz Lightyear doll was exceptionally constructed, encoded to be an intergalactic space-ranger sent to protect the universe from the evil emperor, Zurg.

Closing the internet page, Buzz finally realised why he had not known he was a toy - he had not been programmed to be one. His mind comprised the intellect of an intergalactic space-ranger and not a child's play-thing. But now, sitting in Bonnie's room, it was finally playing to his advantage.

He knew he needed more information: where Woody had been that morning, who he had spoken to. He realised he may even have to figure out what happened with Bonnie whilst he, Jessie and Bullseye were still neatly tucked up in the large, woven basket Bonnie used as storage for her toys.

The spaceman suddenly stood up, his eyes flitting back and forth as if he were reading words written in the air.

A confused gaze in her eyes, Jessie paused to look at Buzz.

"Jessie-" he said.

For half a moment, a silence grew between them; Buzz hanging on for her reply, Jessie waiting for him to continue.

"Yes?" she asked, warily letting her eyes sweep over him. Her top lip quivered slightly, a smile cast itself attentively over her lips as if it wasn't sure whether it should settle there.

"We need to work out what's wrong with Woody," he explained, marching forwards.

The tension suddenly vanished. "I know_ that_, Buzz."

"We need to conduct a thorough investigation into Woody's behaviour from seven hundreds hours," he began, his head rocking forwards as he punctuated every important point. "Details of where he's been this morning, who he's spoken to, what they said to one another-"

Jessie smirked. "You really got this figured out, huh?"

Hiding his smiles from Jessie was never one of Buzz's strong-suits. His cheeks started to blaze a glowing crimson. "Well, maybe," he tried to retain himself. "I just want to make sure Woody's okay."

"Why Buzz, you couldn't have put it better," she exclaimed. "Can I be your accomplice?"

"Of course," he assured her.

"And you want me to get the gang down here? Help us out?"

Buzz frowned, shaking his head. "Negative. We need to do this discreetly. Woody wouldn't want the whole room worrying about him."

"Gotcha, Buzz."

Pace forwards, the space-ranger set his index finger and thumb into the corner of his eyes, covering his sight with a glistening darkness, so he could think clearer. Hundreds of theories emerged in his mind but, like a swarm of half-blown balloons, they never seemed fully formed.

"We need to ask all the toys if they've seen Woody this morning, it's still possible that Woody could have been confronted by someone," he pondered. "We need results soon but we can't press too hard. I recommend a devised approach. I'll concentrate on the original toys and you, Jessie, focus on the old gang. Agreed? Jessie?"

Buzz turned on his heel. "Jessie?"

The cowgirl stood with her head facing the ground, her feet tracing the pale grain of the oak floor. "You...you really think someone could have upset him?" she asked, her words suddenly frail.

Like a puppet suddenly released from its strings, Buzz's body fell, weakened, at the sight of Jessie's frantic eyes searching him. He reached out and held Jessie's hand tenderly in his own.

"I don't know," he muttered. With a cough, he retained his former readiness and said, in the most defiant voice he could muster: "But we've got to find out."

Jessie lifted her chin and the space-ranger stared into her round, glossy eyes with a reassuring smile.

The cowgirl let her lips curl and winked. "Let's go!"

:::

**AN** - Short, I know, but I didn't want to start the next chapter too early. I will post Chapter 3 soon.

Thanks for reading; all reviews welcome and appreciated.


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